


Sparks Flew

by beng



Series: Fires in the Night [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Lucky cultural coincidences, Mountain Goats, Smut, riding lessons, spring is in the air
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: In the new world after the Battle, Dwalin is the Chief of the Guard, answering directly to King Fili. Tauriel is Captain of the Scouts, answering to Dwalin and quite relieved that her new job allows her to spend a lot of time under open sky.And then there are mountain goats: animals evidently enhanced with dark powers, who can comfortably dash up and down almost vertical surfaces, and Tauriel is not happy about it. Frayed nerves lead to happy discoveries though.(the AU where Fili survived the BotFA, Tauriel moved into Erebor, and she and Dwalin became pals)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I could say my fingers slipped, but this has been living in my head for a while now :P  
> 

 

“DWAAAAALIN!” Tauriel screamed as the large goat carried her down an impossible, almost vertical slope on the northern side of Mount Erebor, sparks flying against the rock from its hooves.

The warrior only laughed as he watched her, astride his own beast on an equally impossible outcropping of rocks.

“Hold tight, Grasshopper!” he shouted. “The Stone guides them, you will not fall!”

He seriously believed that?! Tauriel clenched her teeth, sweaty hands burrowing deeper into the grey-brown fur on the goat’s shoulders, trying to keep some balance during the mind-numbing descent, the wall of granite a blur on her right side, and the snow-covered plains a gut-wrenching distance down and away on her left.

Finally the insane animal jumped down on a ledge where a more sloping downward path started, and Tauriel half-fell, half-stumbled from the saddle, wobbly knees giving out beneath her. Panting, she crumpled to the ground and thanked the Valar that she was still in one piece.

“Not bad, lass.” Dwalin skipped to a halt effortlessly in front of her. “Not bad at all, for an elf. Praiseworthy screaming too.”

Tauriel glared up at him. She could’ve been killed, maimed, fallen to her death!

In the blink of an eye, she was on her feet. Brandishing her twin daggers, she sprang to the side, making Dwalin’s battle-trained goat spin sharply and lower its horned head. Crouching, Tauriel circled the animal, blood boiling as she heard Dwalin start laughing again. The nerve!

But he still hadn’t learned to match her speed and her eye for leverage, and in a few short moments, she knocked him out of the saddle. A muffled groan betrayed the sharp stones digging in the warrior’s back as Tauriel knelt on his chest and pressed her daggers against his throat.

“I could make _you_ scream, dwarf. It would be so disappointingly easy,” she snarled.

Something glinted in the warrior’s dark eyes as he looked Tauriel up and down, and then grabbed her knee, yanking her down on top of him.

“You wouldn’t harm me,” he challenged.

Tauriel stared at him. She sharply felt her still heaving breasts, the cold sweat trickling down the side of her neck. A broad, muscled chest was moving with every breath beneath her thighs. Large, tattooed hands lay heavy on her waist.

Unthinking, she rolled her hips and leaned down.

“Because we’re friends, Master Dwalin?” she breathed in his ear, letting her windswept hair fall down around his face, her smooth neck mere inches from his lips. “I don’t make my friends ride insane mountain goats; why do you?”

But she still hadn’t learned to match his strength, and suddenly it was her lying on the rocks, daggers wrestled from her hands, wrists caught and pressed to the ground above her head, Dwalin’s rock-solid weight on top of her. He stared down at her seriously.

“My whole life, I’ve never seen a dwarf thrown off a goat, nor have I heard any such thing,” he growled. “You, tree princess, belong to the Stone now, and you will not fall either.”

“Unless you do something stupid,” he added as he rolled off her and got up.

Tauriel wordlessly grasped his hand as he pulled her up and returned her daggers. Her goat impatiently pawed the ground, its large horns turned in profile as it regarded the elf. Tauriel swallowed thickly.

Hadn’t she done something stupid already? As she let the cold wind and the grey, overcast sky cool her anger, she was reminded of her duty. They had scout recruits from Dale to train, teach them horse riding and wilderness lore, and some fighting too, reading the terrain and tracking. With the agreement finally signed between King Fili and King Bard, she and Dwalin had their hands full. She shouldn’t be crossing lines, acting on wild impulses born of frayed nerves and memories of a woodland life.

Pursing her lips, Tauriel got back in the saddle. Thankfully, the path was winding and level, and she should have enough time to figure out how to properly apologize to the dwarf. Nevertheless, she’d be lying if she said her eyes didn’t stop in thought more than once on Dwalin’s broad shoulders as she followed him down to the camp.

 

***

Sparks flew as Dwalin threw another log into the fire. Leaning back on a sack of barley, legs outstreched to the side, Tauriel watched them disappear into the starry sky.

“Tomorrow the same schedule, Master Dwalin?” asked Alarik, a smallish, freckled boy of about fifteen.

“Why? You going somewhere?” the dwarf grumbled.

The boy shrugged. “Just wondering. We’ve been here almost a week already.”

“I’m returning to Erebor tomorrow, lad. It’ll be your Captain Tauriel setting the training schedule as she sees fit.”

Tauriel smiled at the boy. “Camping will be your lot more often than not. Get used to it, scout.”

She watched Dwalin pull out his tobacco pouch and start stuffing his pipe, tattooed, calloused hands relaxed and steady with practice. Soon, the smell of tobacco smoke joined the scent of snow and firesmoke, the traces of their simple meal and the leather-and-sweat smell of horse tack.

Algunna, a willowy young widow, poured herself another helping of gruel from the pot by the fire and then pulled a shawl closer around her thin shoulders. Geir, her dark-bearded brother-in-law, passed her a folded blanket to huddle in.

Almost everyone who had answered King Fili’s call had lost someone in the burning of Laketown or the Battle of the Five Armies. Some of the new scouts in training were mere children, at least in Tauriel’s and Dwalin’s eyes. Three were women. They also had four erstwhile fishermen, a potter who’d lost an arm in the battle, and a cobbler with all his equipment destroyed in the fire. The Dalish had looked at them with hungry eyes and little hope of other means to make the ends meet, and soon enough Dwalin had agreed with Tauriel to accept anyone who seemed trustworthy and could learn quickly enough.

The new scouts of Erebor were no match for the fast and deadly rangers of Mirkwood, but Tauriel would work with what she had. Thankfully, there were few orcs and wargs left prowling the plains after the Battle.

The elf sat up and stretched her arms. It had been a long day. The strain from continuous riding as she trained the recruits on horseback or learned the goat-riding herself, was taking its toll even on her, and in addition she still hadn’t found an opportunity to apologize for her inappropriate actions. Perhaps she could do it now, as the scouts huddling sleepily around the fire started to leave for their tents. Algunna, two men, and the boy Alarik were still by the fire though.

“Come here, lass,” Dwalin’s quiet voice startled her from her morose train of thoughts. “Suffering does not become you.”

The dwarf sat up straighter on his log and threw a folded saddle blanket on the ground in front of him. Tauriel cast him a dubious glance.

“Just sit and pull away all that hair, so I can rub your shoulders, is all,” he grumbled.  “And you,” he pointed with the stem of his pipe at the recruits, “watch and learn, and take care of your swordmates too.”

Tauriel sat cross-legged on the ground, twisting her hair over her shoulder, unsure about the offer, but a bit too tired to protest much. She had grown accustomed to how casually dwarves touched each other. This didn’t feel like such a huge leap from cuffing Nori on the head or working in the library with Ori, shoulders close and knees brushing under the table.

“Start lightly,” Dwalin instructed, placing his large warm hands just below her hairline. “Warm up the skin and the tissues first. Be careful with tendons. Don’t knead the spine. And work from the top down, so the blood flows towards the heart.”

“So, with the legs… from feet up?” Algunna had the boy sitting between her knees, both watching Dwalin with attentive curiosity.

The dwarf nodded, pipe still smoking in the corner of his lips. “But that you will have to work out yourselves. I’m not demonstrating on your Captain here.”

Tauriel smiled. Dwalin’s rough fingers felt strange on her soft skin, rubbing small circles on her neck, then spreading out to her shoulders, strong, warm palms pressed firmly against her abused muscles and tendons. He droned on, in his usual growling manner, answering Algunna’s questions and telling her something about various oils that could also be used... Telling the recruits something about needing…. to take care of each other... That it was certainly smarter than falling off... a horse while... pursued by orcs, just because … your leg cramps... after... days of riding.

Tauriel’s head was drooping, Dwalin’s calloused hands working wonders on her shoulders, sending tendrils of warmth throughout her upper body. She was comfortable and safe. It made her feel that the bump in their friendship she had caused today was left in the past, forgiven without any need for words — not the first, and probably not the last time with the taciturn dwarf. He didn’t sweat small stuff, as Nori had once put it. Dwalin didn’t overthink. He was straightforward, honest and loyal. And, by the sea and the stars, his hands felt so good. Tauriel was turning into melty, malleable wax underneath his palms…

And then something changed.

A slight pause, a light brush of his thumb against the nape of her neck, and suddenly Tauriel had to swallow a moan as sparks of warmth reached down her chest, teasing her nipples under all her layers of clothes, igniting long-ignored embers in the pit of her stomach.

Dwalin didn’t seem to notice. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of the way and continued firmly kneading her shoulders, hands now and then wandering past her collarbones, rough fingers slowly giving in to the curiosity of just how different she felt, how thin and frail compared to a dwarf. Her breath caught as his warm palm wrapped lightly around her neck, cradling her throat in his palm, thumb pressed lightly against her pulse point. Oh Eru, she was certainly feeling her blood rush to new, unmentionable parts of her body now.

“Thank you, Dwalin!” Tauriel twisted out of his grasp. “Thank you,” she repeated with a tight smile. “I feel much better now.”

“You’re welcome,” the dwarf murmured and leaned forward, all attention now on cleaning out his pipe.

Tauriel sat on the horse blanket, trying to calm her racing thoughts. The recruits had gone to sleep, as Dwalin had taken up the first guard shift. The fire illuminated the little clearing encircled with tents and a couple carts with provisions for the recruits and the horses, while the goats generally took care of themselves on the rocky slopes. The camp looked so small against the backdrop of the immense mountain behind her, or the vast snow plains in front of her.

It was her camp, her people now. Out in the wild, there was no place for unresolved tensions or misunderstandings. She glanced up at Dwalin and took a deep breath.

“I don’t mean to offend, Master Dwalin, but do you dwarves lie with others outside marriage?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Do you dwarves lie with others outside marriage?”

The question rang out and hung in the winter air. Dwalin slowly put his pipe away. All that beard and bushy eyebrows made him hard to read for the elf. She hadn’t even realized he had blue eyes until earlier today, when he’d stared her down in natural lighting, his face mere inches from hers.

“And Fili says I don’t mince words…” he finally grumbled.

Chastised, Tauriel looked away. “I’m sorry, Dwalin, I evidently misspoke.”

“No harm done, Grasshopper. You surprised me, is all.” He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as they both watched the fire.

Tauriel found herself fidgeting with the ties of her bracers, thoughts a jumble in her head. She was unwilling to say anything else, to embarrass herself even more, but she wanted. She had just realized how much she wanted something, or someone, a spark of passion in the last, tired dregs of winter, a stark reminder of love and life after the long, dreary months of grief and darkness in the Mountain.

And considering she was now banished from her forest, she didn’t have that many choices, it was either some random Lakeman, or a dwarf. At least she knew and respected Dwalin, and he had seemed at least mildly interested. On the mountainside too, it had been Dwalin who pulled her knee, making her straddle him. He had started it, and she had just reacted, in her own impulsive way. But if he was surprised, did it mean she had completely misread his gestures?

“So what’s on your chest, lass?” Dwalin broke the silence. “Why would you ask something like that?”

Tauriel sighed to herself as she shook her head.

“It’s nothing. I was mistaken.”

“You? Mistaken?” Dwalin laughed, pulling her by the shoulder so she could lean against his shin as he sat on the log. “Are your senses deceiving you? Did we pick the wrong elf for the Scout Captain’s job?”

Tauriel chuckled as she relaxed against her grumpy sparring partner. Not having to look him in the eye made it easier to speak.

“I asked because… Well, elves do,” she started slowly. “The woodland elves, I mean. Or did. The Sindar traditions are taking hold more and more, especially as the darkness grows. All clans have moved to the Elvenking’s Halls now. But we still…” She gestured vaguely at the fire. “We celebrate life and nature, and the wild, uninhibited beauty of it all. Solstices and equinoxes, the turn of seasons. There’s dancing and wine, and…”

“And?”

“And old fertility rites,” Tauriel blurted, feeling her cheeks grow hot. “Prosperity rites, good luck invocations. Unmarried couples would lie with each other for the night of the feast, taking pleasure from each other without any vows or commitment. Sometimes it goes on for longer, but usually not. The elders know, the families know too. It’s not shameful. Not in the Lakemen way, who believe a woman should be untouched before marriage.”

“Sounds like some proper drunken frolicking in the woods,” he chuckled. “Are your people related to those spoilsports in Rivendell at all?”

He hesitated a moment, before gathering Tauriel’s hair, knowing she’d tell him or move away if she felt uncomfortable. Tauriel closed her eyes as he started a simple braid, an affectionate gesture she’d seen many times among her dwarves.

“We don’t often… have a chance like that,” Dwalin said. “We have few dams, and for the most part, they’re spoken for. But those who aren’t… they mess about plenty before deciding who to give their heart to. It’s no shame among dwarves either. Heart is the real prize.”

“ _F_ _ë_ _a_ , the spirit, is the prize for my people too,” Tauriel smiled, relieved that, personal misunderstandings aside, at least their cultures seemed to be on the same footing. “So… Hmm… Have you…?”

Dwalin chuckled. “Oh, have I ever… I may not look much to your elven eyes, but I’ve gotten around.”

He tied her braid off with a leather cord, and she turned around, a rare spark of mischief pulling her tongue: “You speak of it as a matter of youth long gone, Master Dwalin.”

“I’m not that young, lass,” Dwalin laughed.

Tauriel cocked an eyebrow. “I’m over six hundred.”

“Trying to make an old wolf feel better, huh?”

Tauriel laughed. She looked him over unabashedly as she sat by his feet in the dancing firelight. There was a long scar across his face, and another on his forehead. Dark, thick hair receded from the top of his head; a bushy beard. Wrinkled brow. Ropey veins and more scars on his calloused hands, a rugged black fur thrown over broad shoulders against the cold winter night. An old wolf indeed, Tauriel smiled to herself.

“You thinking something you might regret, lass?” Dwalin asked her seriously.

So she hadn’t been mistaken. Tauriel bit her lip.

“You’re not… spoken for, are you? We wouldn’t be hurting anyone?”

Dwalin shook his head as he stared into the fire. “My heart is firmly in the grasp of someone who never wanted it. Sometimes life’s unfair like that.”

Tauriel turned and leaned against his knee again, watching the flames lick the glowing logs. “Sometimes, love itself is an award,” she murmured. “Even unrequited and short, it still shows us new truths if we let it.”

“Speaking from experience, Grasshopper? Your heart still with the lad? Kili?”

Tauriel sighed. “I don’t know, Dwalin. It was over before it even started, I think. I’m just not ready for anything real and serious.” She shrugged. “So you’re quite safe from me too, old wolf.”

“Alright then. But I won’t have it a secret, lass. It’s not the dwarven way.”

“No. It’s not the woodland way either.”

“And duty always comes first. Like this guard shift.”

Tauriel nodded. “Of course.”

Content with how the night had turned out, she scooted backwards and put Dwalin’s hands on her shoulders again. A tiny voice at the back of her head wondered what in the void she was doing, but bright orange sparks from the fire flew up in the air so prettily, and Tauriel ignored the voice.

She wanted to live her new life to the fullest.

 

***

Tauriel was no stranger to a man’s touch. But a thick, coarse beard sticking in her face was new. Lying on her bedroll, Tauriel chuckled as she ran her hands over Dwalin’s face.

“So much hair...” She grinned.

“Well, you feel funny too,” Dwalin mumbled, calloused fingers tracing her jawline. “Smooth like a river stone.”

“But you’re a good kisser,” she countered. “Your memory serves you well, old wolf.”

“Minx, mind your tongue.”

Then she pulled him down for another kiss.

They had started with the practicalities, moving Tauriel’s bedroll into Dwalin’s tent, under the scandalized gazes of the two guards who took the next shift. They had started by building a cosy nest of blankets and pillows, taking off their armour and placing their weapons where they could find them quickly in the dark.

Lighting a small candle that wouldn’t shine through the waterproofed fabric and sitting next to each other, they had started with a simple touch, his calloused hands wrapping around her soft ones, thick fingers tracing hers. It was comfortable in the way two friends would touch, and also strange and awkward, weird angles and wrong heights, Dwalin half a head shorter than her.

Pushing her down on her back, he had solved that problem, and then kissed her, slow and sure and warm, sparking flames in her tired heart. Tauriel’s hands wandered under the collar of his shirt, and over his heavy shoulders, so strong and earthy.

Tauriel shivered as Dwalin’s hand, already so familiar, slid down her neck, rough fingers tracing her collarbone. His thumb lingered for a moment on her throat, and then slid over her shoulder and down her side while she fumbled with the ties in front of her dress, fingers suddenly clumsy. Dwalin shucked off his shirt and pulled her closer, wondering hands traveling up her thighs, cupping her bottom, encircling her waist.

Tauriel splayed her hands across his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles; running her fingers over the wiry dark hairs and the runes inked on his chest. She was certainly aroused, but she’d be lying is she denied she was quite curious too.

A whimper escaped her as Dwalin pulled her even closer and kissed her neck, soft lips and a scratchy beard a strange combination against her skin.

His hand slid into her hair and tugged her head back, exposing her throat.

“Smooth like a river-washed stone,” he murmured again as he kissed it.

Her breathing already ragged, Tauriel finally unlaced her dress, and then his calloused hands were on her breasts, cupping them, wondering, flicking his thumb over her hardened nipples, sliding down her sides and caressing her back. Tauriel arched into his touch, dazed from the stark simplicity of it all, the little friendly candle, the soft bedrolls, the scent of coming spring almost felt in the air, Dwalin’s warm large hands and kisses all over her.

She pulled him closer and reached down to his belt, unbuckling it with surprising ease before Dwalin helped her out of her own pants.

“You sure, lass?” he growled, rough fingers finding her wet and ready.

Tauriel’s breath caught, and she threw back her head as he slowly pushed one, then two fingers inside her. The earth pulsed beneath her, in time with his hand and her heartbeat. Ohh, was this what it meant to be the adopted daughter of the Stone? To feel it in your bones, your heart and mind? What would it feel like for Fili then, with his heightened Stone sense, his strong link to the ancient Mountain?

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, I’m sure, and hold nothing back.”

She gasped and bit her lip as Dwalin pressed inside her, much thicker than she had expected, but it was good, it was so, so good, and it felt so real, so sharp and strong, and simple. He drew back and pushed deeper again, and then deeper still as she whimpered with some discomfort and then pleasure, his hand fisted in her hair, her pale neck and chest exposed to the cool air and his hard kisses.

He held her down, one leg bent under his arm and the other thrown over his shoulder, and something under the bedroll was digging in her back, an annoyance just this side of tolerable, Dwalin’s thrusts growing rougher by the moment. She knew she only had to say one word, but..

Oh, Mahal. All the bleakness of the past few months, the last dredges of her sorrow and misery, the whole disaster of today’s riding lesson, all the things that had been gnawing at her, they all coiled in the pit of her stomach, ready to… ready to…

“Dwalin, harder!”

She swore, Sindarin, Westron and Khuzdul amalgamating in what exactly she was feeling, the brilliant void that she flew up in, golden flames and sparks, and strong, tattooed hands keeping her safe and tethered, before he came too, ragged breath and low grunts and a warm, hairy chest she was carefully hugged against as she... she cried absurd tears of she didn’t know what.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, lass…” Dwalin’s murmurs reached her consciousness. “Did I hurt you?”

They were lying side by side, and Dwalin was slowly rocking her, his large hand, suddenly so awkward, patting her tousled hair.

“No, no, it was wonderful,” she smiled at him, brushing away her tears. “It was amazing. Let’s do it again. I want… There’s something else I want to do. There’s so much I want to try.”

Dwalin raised a sceptic eyebrow. “I’m not complaining as it is, lass.”

Tauriel turned in his arms and straddled him, mischievous sparks burning in her hazel eyes.

“‘Not complaining’, is that all you want? Master Dwalin, we _must_ raise your standards for proper frolicking!”

 

***

“So lying with your… swordsmates is not any different than with any other dwarf, yes?” Tauriel asked, head propped up on her elbow and a blanket thrown over her hip as she lazily traced the runes on Dwalin’s chest. The candle had burned out sometime during their second go, and the first morning light was struggling through the tent canvas. The wake up call from the last guard shift would soon follow, and another day would begin.

“Aye. Just use your common sense,” Dwalin sighed. “We’re still people. And sometimes people fall in love when they shouldn’t. Or get jealous. Or think they can get away with things just because they slept with their superior.”

Tauriel shrugged at his warning. “I will keep it in mind. Although I don’t exactly plan to start sleeping around.”

“So what about others?” she asked again. “Our recruits? How discrete exactly are these things for dwarves?”

Dwalin stared at the tent ceiling, contemplating, while his thumb traced Tauriel’s naked spine.

“They’re Lakemen. Or Dalish now. Same thing anyway. They’ll draw their conclusions, I suppose. Actually, it’s not a bad test of loyalty. We’ll see what rumours they’ll be spreading.”

Tauriel smiled crookedly. “It’ll remind them that they work for Erebor. If anyone’s offended by dwarf customs, it’s better they go home now, rather than later.”

“True enough,” Dwalin agreed. He pushed Tauriel off his shoulder and sat up, stretching his back and arms. “Let’s get ready for the day, lass. I’m leaving after breakfast, so that gives us a bit of time for another riding lesson.”

Tauriel groaned. “I’m sore in all the wrong places for riding!”

“What did I say about duty? Frolicking or no, you have things to learn,” he reminded her.

“I know, I know. But if that crazy beast throws me off, you figure out what to tell Fili.”

“Fair enough,” Dwalin grumbled.

Minutes later, they left the tent, the clear sky and the slow wind from the south brightening Tauriel’s mood once more. They greeted the tired guards, picked up their tack and walked back towards the mountain to get their goats.

As Tauriel glanced over her shoulder, the dancing sparks from the campfire were nearly invisible in the morning light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods this was complicated to write :D Let me know what came through, and stay tuned for the next instalment with some ugly truths from Fili :D


End file.
